While I was still recovering, I learned another truth that changed everything. An older nurse stopped me in the hallway.
“I won’t tell you everything,” he said.
He showed me old records. The death of his first wife was not natural. She fell from the roof during an episode of sleepwalking.
Before that, she had survived three similar incidents, always because he was awake and caught her.
“People thought it was strange,” the nurse said. “But the truth is, he was a guard.”
My hands began to tremble.
So he married me…
To save me.
And to punish himself.
When he got home, he was quieter. More vulnerable. He no longer sat in the chair. He slept near the door, far from the bed.
“Now I don’t have to look ,” he said. ” You’re safe.”
But I could see that he was not safe from himself.
Uпa пoche mυrmυró coп fiebre:
“Don’t go… look… smile…”
Tomé sυ maпo.
“I’m here.”
She opened her eyes. For the first time, she looked at me without fear.
“You must hate me,” he whispered.
—Maybe so—I said— . Already.
Then came the next surprise: the cause of my sleepwalking episodes. A doctor explained that it was related to a childhood trauma, repressed until stress brought it to light.
—Her husband recognized him —said the doctor—. He knew it before you did.
That night, for the first time, there was no fear, only regret.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
He looked out the window.
“Because if I did,” he said, “you would have run away.”
“And now?”
He exhaled.
“Now it’s too late to run.”
His health worsened again. A night said in a low voice:
“If I leave—”
“Don’t do it,” I interrupted.
He attended.
Leave the house. Take your father with you. Start over.
